Chapter ONE. – Birthday

Fourteen. Starring up at the ceiling, ignoring the mountains of broken toys surrounding him, Harry's thoughts turned to Tom. They used to celebrate his birthday the 31st of October, the day he came to the orphanage; apparently they were exactly three months off. Not that his muggle family had told him, they had barely said a word to him apart from the reoccurring verbal slandering of his heritage and 'freakish' nature.

From the second Harry had met his 'family' he had known they would bring nothing good into his life. His aunt Petunia was a tall and thin with a long neck. She also seemed to have a permanent expression of disgust and hatred whenever she looked at him. Her husband was about as muggle as a person could get. He appeared to have no imagination at all from the way he acted and dressed.

His physical appearance was the complete opposite of his wife; he was a beefy man with little to no neck at all. In fact his built was very similar to his son, Dudley, except for the eyes. His son's watery blue eyes had been inherited from Petunia. Dudley was the same age as Harry, except he was at least three times his size, and had apparently been forbidden to say a word or acknowledge his newfound cousin in any way.

This, Harry had, concluded from the looks he had kept sneaking at him any chance he got. Succeeding in making Harry feel like a circus animal, during the drive from King's Cross station to their (for it was their, they had made it very clear that Harry was nothing but an unwanted guest) home in Little Whinging, Surry. The house, which he had not allowed to leave or even step outside of, since he arrived, was as boring as the family that resided within. This he had been able to concluded upon first sight.

Number four, Privet Drive could be described as large and square. It had a low garden wall in front with a garden behind filled with flowerbeds and a greenhouse. The house itself was built with bricks and had several chimneys. It was most likely built in the 1930's and was part of a subdivision of hundreds of similar houses.

Harry had to admit that the house was far more comfortable than the muggle orphanage he was used to, but than again, the muggle world was bound to have evolved at least some in the fifty years that had passed. He had found the new fashion both horrifying and entertaining at first, it was strange how much it had changed; the wizard fashion was almost the same as it had been when he first was introduced to the wizarding world all those years ago.

Not that he saw much of muggle fashion from the window in the small room he occupied, Privet Drive wasn't exactly what would be described as a busy street. To be honest he was surprised they allowed him to stay in a room at all and not force him to live in the basement or cupboard considering the minuscule portions of food they gave him, leaving him on the verge of starvation.

No, the only reason he knew it was his birthday was because of the letter Malfoy had sent him, wishing him a happy birthday, expressing his sympathy of Harry staying with muggles, though not without bragging about his own summer holiday. It was almost enough to make Harry to break the law of underage sorcery to hex him if it wasn't for the endnote of the letter.

He was inviting him to the Quidditch World Cup. Why remained a mystery to Harry, it wasn't like Harry even went to the house matches unless he had to, but any chance to get away from the filthy muggles, he would gladly take. And the chance to once again stay in Malfoy Manor wasn't one he would stand up either.

But what he really wanted was to know was why Tom wasn't writing to him. Not one letter had reached him from his… whatever he was. Was he Tom? Was he just a memory, created by Tom? He did after all posses a part of Tom's soul, but how big a piece was it? Did it mean he would never have his Tom back? That his Tom didn't exist anymore? He seemed the same, but at the same time he was different. For one, he never thought Tom would actually kill anyone, but he had, at least once, to create the Tom currently staying with Dumbledore. And that Tom had killed again to get a body. And Harry had let him…

Maybe his aunt was right, maybe he was a freak, maybe he should have shared the same fate as his parents. Shaking his head Harry turned his attention to the return letter he was writing, which Malfoy's raven waited patiently for him to finish.

Maybe he could borrow the bird and send Tom a letter. No, he would not think about Tom. Not past Tom, not grown-up Tom and certainly not memory Tom. Maybe Malfoy would serve as a good diversion, at least for a while.

Tbc…